“Ariston,” Cleopatra said, “what made you leave these pirates? It sounds as if the life suits you well.” She displayed not the slightest distaste for this seafaring murderer, only a lively interest. If she wanted to see real life, she was getting it by the bucketful in this place.
“The old life suited me well, but not this. You see, in the old days we were the kings of the sea. The pirate fleets ruled the waters from the Euxine to the Pillars of Herakles and beyond. We rowed right up to Roman ports and bared our buttocks at them. Kings of the land payed us tribute just to make us go away. We blockaded whole cities and made them ransom themselves. We gilded entire ships and hoisted sails dyed with Tyrian purple. That was living the way a pirate should!” He looked morose.
“This new lot are not worthy of the old fleets. With a few, miserable Liburnians they skulk about, raid small villages, and take merchantmen—as long as there’s not another sail in sight. It’s too paltry for me. In the fleet of Lichas I rose to command a trireme! We went ship-to-ship with the fleets of Bythinia and Rhodes and sent them scurrying back home.”
“Until Rome came and swept the sea clean of you,” I said. “Rome ruins everything for everybody,” he said, then grinned crookedly. “Well, that’s how the wheel of Fortuna turns. Now Rome is at the helm, and I’d rather serve a first-rate power than despoil goatherds and take defenseless ships hauling wool. My pride won’t take it.”
“How do you propose we find these pirates?” Alpheus asked. Ariston cocked his head toward the young man. “Who’s he?” “I am a poet.”
“He’s not sailing with us, is he?”
“No,” I answered, “but she is.”
He rolled his eyes. “This is going to be an interesting voyage.” Cleopatra smiled sweetly. “Don’t expect me to bend over the rail for you, tied or untied.” A bit of the murderous Ptolemy showed through her polish.
“Alpheus’s question was a good one,” I said. “Just how do you propose we find them? It’s for just such advice that I will be hiring you.”
He lifted his cup. “I think that should wait until after I’ve taken your oath and accepted your silver denarius.”
I dipped into my purse and took out a denarius. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him. “This is your provisional enlistment, as witnessed by Princess Cleopatra, who is now one of my officers. You are now under Roman protection. When we leave here, come with us. I’ll find you a bunk in the house of Silvanus for the night. You’ve been seen talking with us, and your life is no longer worth that denarius in this port.”
He grinned, showing not a single empty space among his white teeth. I considered it a good sign that a veteran brawler of his years still had all his teeth. Then his grin faded. “I’d feel better if you gave me the oath right now.” He had a true sailor’s reverence for the supernatural powers.
“We need an altar for that,” I said. “You can take the oath tomorrow at the naval base.”
“We pass the Temple of Poseidon on the way back to the house of Silvanus,” Alpheus suggested. “Why not give him the oath there?”
“Good idea,” I said. I picked up our pitcher and peered into its faintly damp bottom. “Time for more.” I signaled for the barmaid, and she came scurrying over.
“Who knows?” said Alpheus. “We might have a whole crew of men like Ariston recruited before it is time to leave.”
“I have a feeling there are very few men around here like Ariston,” Cleopatra said, eyeing the man coolly.
He grinned again, “You have that right, Princess.”
The wine arrived quickly, and we drank to our new recruit. Cleopatra asked for another song from Alpheus, but he protested that he was sung out for the moment and reeled off in search of the jakes. So, willful as a child, she demanded pirate stories from Ariston. He complied happily, and she gave him her rapt attention.
Alpheus slipped back onto the bench beside me and whispered, “Look over there.” He nodded toward the corner where Flavia lounged, her gown fallen to her waist and no fewer than six sailors surrounding her. Her face was flushed crimson, and she laughed loudly as they took liberties with her. “Do you think she’ll take them on each in turn or all at once?”
I pondered the logistics. “Common wisdom holds that a woman can properly entertain no more than three men at once, since the gods have bestowed upon her only that many orifices suited to the task. If she is dextrous with her hands in spite of such distractions, she may deal with two more. I’ve known certain wonderfully trained courtesans who can manage five to the satisfaction of all involved. But six? I would think that unlikely.”